Plastic
by 0ri
Summary: Seishirou, August, 1984.


**_MAJOR_ WARNINGS: **Mass murder, **religion bashing**, morbidity, and gore.

edit: Yeah, I made... quite a few stupid errors in this with actual facts. I fixed one of them, but if I fixed the others I would have to rewrite a ton of parts... so... I may rewrite parts of this and export the document. Etc.

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Seishirou's perception of hope….

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.**PLASTIC**.

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**August, 1984**

It was his 17th birthday, that very fine and cool November morning. He'd realized it only shortly after he'd woken up, alone – in the bed that had been shared with him not too many months ago by his only relative - his mother. The silk sheets were still wonderfully enriched by her flowery scent and intoxicating perfume, the beauty of a female; and Seishirou stuffed his face in the pillow beside his that he'd never bother washing for the very reason that the aroma of the exotic woman had lingered on it like a gentle sheet, breezy and fresh as the calming air of the sea. Another smell, however, had settled about the room now – cigarettes.

It wasn't so bad though, he mused. Seishirou preferred smoking outside, whenever he _did_ smoke; delighting slightly in the fact that he was adding to the decay of an already rotting planet - so that particular scent wasn't so strong in their – no, _his_ home. He also enjoyed how the stray bits of wind combed through his hair, like the sound of the great Earth giving sighs – as the grey smoke of his cigarette twirled in an eerie ballet – rising among the camellias and cherry blossoms, as if beckoning them too to dance.

Not minding that he was engrossed in a bit in recollections – it happened often now, actually – now that his companion was dead – he supposed it'd become a small habit - Re-thinking things, Assessing, Deciding. Of course, he could break it, if he _wanted_ – but he didn't mind it.

Not too much, anyway.

Seishirou lifted his face from the fabric, running a hand through his tousled hair, and yawned like a great panther, a light show of the predator he was, as he stretched himself out on the bed, back arching, feeling his joints pop here and there – god – _that felt good –_ and then sitting up, still stretching just a bit, before he doused into full awakening and felt the real want to rise. He stood up, arching his back once again before stepping out of the room and into the brightness of the kitchen.

Well, it _was_ Sunday. He'd already done all his homework, as he'd always did for school, on time and early – Seishirou absently sat down on one of the kitchen seats, and snatched his pack of cigarettes from where he'd left them on the countertop, pulling his lighter he'd left conveniently beside it along with it. He was lighting a cigarette with the practiced ease of an adult, his morbid maturity another tiny display he only let slip while in solitude. He leant on the countertop, just a little sleepily, the white stick tucked in the corner of his lips while he leant his face into his palm, resting one elbow along the cold surface of the counter.

He had a test in Calculus AP – Should he review over for it?

Seishirou shrugged the thought off. _Nah. _And was contently letting smoke slip in-between his lips and then ooze back out with his breaths; warm, arid, and smooth. _Oh, how sweet the poison truly is,_ He thought with an unconcealed malice, a smirk stretching across his face.

Seishirou wondered back to the test once again, the smirk disappearing in a more concentrated, wondrous expression… He knew the material. He knew the material, at this point, probably better then the teacher did, with how much he corrected the idiot sensei. Seishirou scoffed, shaking his head, sipping at another coil of smoke. Often, he found himself at a loss of what to do with school – he watched as other students exerted themselves; so that the schooling, the teachers, the brick walls became the sole meaning of their existence, and there was nothing until they passed it, and they would get nothing unless they passed it. And so they immersed themselves into it, studying until their eyes grew dark and heavy from sleepless nights, the red in their eyes a clear sign of far too much reading – and it intrigued Seishirou, to see how very different his peers were from himself. Seishirou did work in school, and after he went home, _yes_ – but he rarely needed to study, rarely needed to review chapters or vocabulary or formulas or whatever other nonsense it was before it was molted into his brain. If he heard, or read, or saw some thing, just once, it was locked in his mind like a scar on his skin, whether or not he wanted it to be. That was how it had always been, and he knew it no other way.

So endless evenings of nothing but cigarettes and the glow of the sunset drawled on for what seemed like an eternity to the teenager.

Well, he wouldn't be a teenager forever. He'd turned 17, just today, he reminded himself. Only one more year and he would be legally an adult…

Was some celebrating in order?

Seishirou brushed the bits of ash into a small pile, mostly subconscious, as recalled other 'birthday's'… Really, he'd never celebrated it. He didn't know why it was such a big deal for others, to celebrate the day they were born. As if life was some sort of marvelous gift to cherish. He scoffed for the second time that day. In fact, Seishirou hadn't even known what his birthday actually was on until he'd encountered his mother for the first time in … he didn't know how long…. Nine years, at least? … And then, when she'd told him, out of the blue. He'd never asked. He hadn't even wondered.

In fact, Seishirou didn't really give a damn about it at all.

It was a pretty useless detail, considering he wouldn't be able to tell it to anyone anyway. He was completely aware of the danger lurking if he revealed his birthday and birth location to anyone – _to anyone_ – and he wouldn't succumb into it. He had too much self control.

Well… his _last_ birthday - the day he'd turned 16 – now _that_ had been intriguing. His mother was quite a beautiful creature, clothed, but she was an even more beautiful person naked – and so submissive and noxious and alluring, pinned beneath his body… Seishirou frowned. He wouldn't be getting any of _that_, though – since he had granted her wish, to be killed by his hand. She was gone.

But she was still a picturesque scene, in his mind… Seishirou replayed it like a camcorder in his head, the images still vivid and sharp, even after the passing of so many days, months. He shook his head…

Not stimulating enough.

He was – _bored _– in this home, this dollhouse, with nothing but himself and the wilting flowers of the backyard; all closing into buds or merely dying as winter made its steady approach, tiptoeing and ever near… Seishirou gathered up some of the ash (the black smeared horribly on the white marvel, so he had to get a cloth and wipe it) and he threw the stub of the cigarette in the trash bin. He then went back to his room to change from his night clothes.

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It really was a very nice morning, the Sakurazukamori pondered… November was one of Seishirou's favorite seasons, and hardly because of the fact his birthday just happened to fall in the month – _no_ – it was some thing indefinitely in the air, the beat of winter just grazing over the landscape like the fluttering of a dove's wings; colliding with a summer that was still in the process of completely slouching itself into being dormant. It also had some thing to do with how the dead petals and even rare leaves floated gently to the ground, crumbled and curled up in a somber demise, as if they were retreating because of Earth's cruelty of making two completely opposing seasons clash and flood into each other. There was – _beauty_ – in the setting - in the freezing pant of winter and the hot caress of summer, the mixture of the two a most sating vision that washed, cleaning over Seishirou's skin, ruffling around his clothes and still yet stroking his hair, _here_ and _there_ in a glowing coolness that spread throughout his body, lifting his spirits high…

But apparently

not high enough.

Seishirou wandered through the streets of Tokyo, hardly 'enjoying' himself, walking really no where at all, and concealing himself in the throngs of the crowd. People were really quite rude in this place - he kept getting bumped into – most likely for his height – but there were hardly any apologizes spoken, hardly any people who turned at least to _acknowledge_ they'd knocked into him. Well, Seishirou didn't care, either way. He knew that if he truly wanted to, with the snap of his fingers, whoever displeased him would die; as slow and painful or as quick and harmless as he wished it. And the knowledge of that power kept him in a fixated control. It also kept a smirk on his face. No one noticed it, ironically, when he was in the crowds, and just about anyone could turn to see him, 50 or even 100 or so people crowding at the crossing – people noticed less, when they were with more. People regarded things as insignificant, when they were given too much of it. Too much of some thing… lowered its value. Humans were no different from objects, it seemed. Nothing more then scattered, crackled jewelry that had lost its luster.

After making another crossing Seishirou trailed down an unfamiliar path, his adrenaline just a minuscule spike from the mystery. He wondered the streets, memorizing each odd turn he took easily, as he peered up at the towering masses of architecture, the windows of them gleaming from the gray and blue horizon, just lightly streaked with a touch of August's red that kept the hues at a pale, almost shadowed bay. It struck a dim, odd ache inside of him, almost nostalgic but not quite… As if some one had taken a shovel and just scooped in a wide hole in his chest, in his spirit – he was abruptly – shaken, by the sight of that, by that turmoil in his own being and rather briskly Seishirou fled the gorgeous image until he came onto another path, where the sky was far out of view…

…But some thing was still not right…

Seishirou frowned.

Not right at all… And what was that high, mellow trill he could hear? That… sound… like so many flutes playing, like so many violins screaming, and so much music rising in the great swell of a tide… It was so… amorous… and_ foreign_… and… _weird…_ Seishirou felt disgust boil in his throat, and glared immediately. He drew towards that sound, following more of his instinct then hearing, wanting to crush whatever it was being created by, and already blaming it for spoiling his mood. Not that his mood had been very good to start with.

Seishirou bared his teeth like an angry shark, and with one kick of magic in his legs and a swift illusion of the city street and sky, he disappeared to the 'normal' humans. Jolting upward, he landed on one foot a good 40 feet from where he had been, on a large neon sign that blinked its advertisement in green. The sound was closer, still faint and dim, but louder then it had been before… And the teenager kicked off again into the sky, easily moving in the guise of the illusion. No one turned to notice an unknown shadow glide across the walls – the shadow with no body – everyone was too busy, involved in their own matters, to notice the small fact he hadn't even cared enough to wrap his shadow in an illusion as well.

Seishirou needed… to _strangle_… whatever it was, that was creating that high pitch – filled with so much _– joy_ – and _love_ – and some thing else he couldn't even put a name to; some thing unworldly, and not in a magical sense like he…. Some thing… _completely_ untouchable… by his hands. A shrill that soaked his mind, rippled across his skull in an numbing electricity, overfilled his ears and deafened all else as it enraptured him, caught his breath, made his control slip from his fingers like so many grains of hot sand - not just with his mind - but _more_ - with his _soul_, so that all else lost focus and grew blurry, and nothing existed past the high, like a careless kite winding in the sky at the hands of only a small child… just from _that thrill_….

Seishirou landed smoothly in front of the church.

He removed his illusion, not caring if anyone saw, as his eyes wandered up quizzically to the large, obviously carefully placed building…. _This_ was where the sound was coming from?

And now that he was so close, he could identify it.

Identify the melodies strung together as… voices…

Without a doubt.

A chorus.

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It was locked. The church door, that was – and quite obviously from the inside – it only took a minor pull of the handle for Seishirou to analyze it was a chain from that was keeping it shut.

The voices kept singing, unknowing of what danger lurked just outside the doors…

Seishirou smiled slightly; but it was less enthusiastic and more menacing – his thirst for the challenge clear as well as well as his anger to those people inside that kept – _singing_ – so happily, so heedlessly, so blindly, as if they thought God could hear them -

_Didn't they know_

_No_ '**god**' was _listenin_g?

Seishirou's countenance dipped further into anger, some thing he rarely ever felt – Normally, he wouldn't care about such people, and such stupidity – But his Ki was already gathering in his chest, a profound violet that smoothly came down to his fingertips – before he even had the chance to control it, or to even 'want' to control his temper - and with one swift motion, with just the brush of his fingers; that lock inside snapped apart and the door bolted inward.

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The place was enormous, considering the size of the average building in Tokyo – and the price of the land. Many surprised faces turned towards Seishirou, peering at him from behind their wooden seats, some of their mouths agape. Seishirou was not taken aback by this, but more by the fact he had never seen such a variety of cultures in _one_ place – Japanese, Chinese, African American, Blonde-haired, blue-eyed peoples - and such a variety of ages, as well. Toddlers stood up on their seats to get a better look at the intruder, their parents too busy staring at him to scold, while older couples sent him rather dark looks.

Seishirou smiled innocently.

The women of the chorus had paused in their singing, as well – but immediately began again at seeing their mistake of stopping. It angered Seishirou more that they could keep singing and hoping and loving with what could have been considered a 'demon' _right_ _in front of their faces_ – and the urge to rip every one of their throats apart and tear their voice boxes right out, with his bare, pale hands, came full force, and was immensely compelling. _Despite_ that urge, wanting _so much_ to suffice – Seishirou continued to smile – in fact, it widened, giving the illusion of a kind young man who had stumbled upon some thing great.

Finally, people turned back to listen to the chorus – giving their children enough attention to sit them back down in their seats – there were a few, murmuring sounds, clearly about the unknown boy. A great deal of the women in the chorus eyed him, a few with a still surprised, even awed look in their gazes, others with a more wearily stare – and the elderly of the crowd still tossed a look of distaste at him.

Seishirou shut the double doors behind himself – softly.

A man, probably in his 40's – Asian, slicked black short hair, and a pot belly - stood from his seat, sliding up and then rounding onto the left aisle of the building, coming up in quick, controlled steps towards Seishirou. Seishirou stuck his fists into his pockets, watching with a clean, acute look, while he wondered momentarily if he should sport a look of fright towards the other man. He tried to hide his smirk. It didn't work so well.

"_What_ do you think you're doing?" The man hissed at him, infuriated, though trying to keep his voice whispered and hushed. "You can't just _barge_ in here – this is a private assembly! Now _get out!_"

Seishirou held his ground, staring into the other's darker eyes evenly.

_Do you even know who you're speaking to? _

_You have no idea._

_You have absolutely no clue._

Of course he didn't.

_The things I could do to you – _

_The things I could make you see – _

_Right here, in fact. _

_Right now. _

The man's eyes narrowed into antipathy slits when Seishirou didn't move, and gave no sign of obeying.

Seishirou smiled once more.

_Is your family watching, some where, among those seats? _

_Do you want to see _

_how _

_very_

_easily _

_I could humiliate you?_

That singing, still… Seishirou flicked his gaze momentarily to the assortment of females; like several decorated Chinese dolls, standing there in the mess of gray and white colors, their faces; painted with make-up, making them glow and glitter in an unnatural way in the bright illumination of the church's overhead lights. The majority of them were very pretty, some even what other people might consider 'beautiful', but… _They don't even remotely compare to Kaa-san. _

_Worthless. _

"Oi! Are you _listening, _boy!" The man snapped at Seishirou; raising his tone and anger just a tweak higher.

Seishirou had enough of being treated as a child.

He allowed his mask to crack.

The chorus continued to sing.

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_/Oh mighty lord, hear us/_

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He made sure that the man made not a sound when he grazed him with his spell, just murmuring "_Sleep_," and the man cascaded down to the ground – thudding on the wood.

The chorus drowned it out.

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_/Oh mighty lord/_

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Seishirou strode up the aisle.

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_/Save us. /_

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_Ridiculous. _

_I'll show you; just how much your god is listening – _

_Just how much he 'saves'. _

Heads turned to him, astonished at his sleek modality and boldness as he approached, most not sure if this was a part of the ceremony and others seething at the knowledge that it was not - closer and closer he moved towards the chorus, until he reached the very center of the 'stage'; the group of women standing there just to his right, eying him, most looking dubious although others seemed frightened – Seishirou couldn't hear their hearts hammering, above that horrid noise – he needed to end it – _now _– Before – _He_…

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/_Oh holy spirit, oh -/_

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Seishirou calculated the motion in a mere split second before acting – grabbing at the neck of a girl placed at the end of the row, closest to him – and jerking her towards himself with an iron grip, pushing and squeezing the flesh beneath his finger tips; the beat of her pulse quick, like a small bird fluttering in his captive. She didn't even have enough air to squeak or gag – he'd cut it all off – and the motion had been too fast for her to let out a scream - and so she only stood there, writhing in her placid horror. Seishirou kept his hand fixed like a wrench, in front of all those spectators; a good 300 people, he estimated. He made the display a show as he cut her life off without a care in the world, while he heard an array of voices gasp and yell in shock.

Immediately, most of the adults had stood from their seats, all looking as though they wanted to bolt but afraid of the consequence – what might happen to the girl Seishirou had in his hand – Seishirou tightened his grip. The girl's knees were starting to give out.

"_Get your disgusting hands off my daughter_!" One man snapped loudly among the rest, honey eyes ablaze, though he was visibly shaking. Seishirou turned his face towards the man, and then merely tipped his head to the side, still holding his smile, as he watched the person's expression dip further and further into terror as the girl in his hand struggled in frail desperation. Seishirou distantly held the church doors shut, tightly; very much aware that there were already people trying to escape.

Finally, Seishirou felt the pulse under his fingers stop, and let the body drop to the ground.

He was intrigued to see the color drain away from man's face.

"N-No…" He choked hoarsely, stumbled back but only hit the seat, and then fell forward against the wooden rows, stunned, tears running down his face. Seishirou made estimation on his age – late 20's, from the looks of it – he was rather young, to have a daughter…

All the fools continued to gape – the morons who believed so very much in their imagination – this nonsense doctrine of their own cognation – that there was some god, watching out for them; that they built statues, relics, songs, and created works of artwork and other such whatnot in a completely illusionary belief. That they solely dedicated such an intimate portion of themselves to be supposedly closer to some thing that didn't even _exist_…

It made Seishirou nauseas.

He hated them.

…Every single one of them.

For having such a tainted hope…

For grudging such a fabricated lie…

For caring

For believing.

For _loving_.

And he would show them, just how much.

_Exactly_ how much.

Seishirou heard some one stammer out "HE'S A _DEMON_!" Closer to the background… near the doors.

"What do you want with us? Please, let us go!" A stubby woman with a strong American accent begged as she sobbed into the shoulder of what Seishirou assumed to be her husband as he held her.

"Let us go now, _demon!_"

"We're report you to the _police_!" Another younger girl snapped hysterically.

"We'll have you _locked up_!"

"GOD SAVE US-" An old woman cried.

"_DEMON!_"

"I am no demon." Seishirou countered easily, shrugging, and glancing off to his side. He hid a smile. "There is no such thing." There was nothing in his voice but apathy, and the sternness that only came from the mouth of some one who was absolutely certain they were right.

"A demon cannot see their own faults." The voice was some where, off to the side, as stern and flat with willpower as Seishirou's own tone. Seishirou found that thought in the gaze of an old man.

"Maybe." He mused out loud with a helpless wave of his hand that belied the power he held over each and every single person in the room. "I don't really care though." He grinned sweetly.

"A-Are you going to kill us?" A little girl squeaked, blue eyes bulging with floods of water as she balled her fist into her mother's expensive dark dress. The mother quickly hushed for her daughter not to speak, listen, or look at the person before them.

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_--Hear no evil see no evil speak no evil---_

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Seishirou didn't reply.

"W-We're in god's house!" The same woman who had yelled demon earlier now lashed out loudly in powerfully declaration, countering Seishirou's sharp, narrow brown eyes with her wider, panicked ones; her vocal cords apparently in good order, considering the wrinkles and creases of her face and the old black eyes. "God will save us from the likes of _you_! _Demon!_"

Seishirou felt that anger again, although it was not so much dislike as it was irritation, bubbling inside him, as he repeated himself, more slowly, as if he were talking to a crippled child. "I… am _no_ demon… and… there is _no_ such thing as God, you foo**-**"

"I-Is that what you are? S-Some sort of atheist, trying to convince us from some… c-cult? Please, let us go!" A young woman stuttered; her face tear-stricken as she clung to her child; only a baby wrapped in linen cloth, crying, as if sensing the distress of every individual of the room. She gasped out "D-Don't kill us!"

"_He killed my daughter_!"

"And as you all roar with pleas god does not hear you…" Seishirou silenced the people with these words, and they all watched him, trembling, their skin shining with sweat and eyes still wide, making them resemble owls. Though some lids were even closed, cheeks turned away; not wanting to witness the tainted boy before them speak such melancholic things of what was a part of their life and souls. Seishirou kept his demeanor laid back, and he stepped over the girl's flaccid body, his polished black shoes shining yellow in the church illumination. His shoes tapped elongated echoes as he walked towards a statue of Mary, centered in the far back, and clearly the commodity of the church.

It faced the people with frozen grey eyes.

Seishirou grinned warily and lifted his arm to run his fingers across the stone – stretching and flexing, watching with a remote interest the way his arm caught with the yellow paint of the ceiling and how the shadow of the statue blackened his fingers, as if with a thin curtain of dust. He could feel all his senses intensify with the adenine – could hear the panted breathes of the people behind him, making the room stifling with the circulated air, lukewarm – could feel the subtle roughness of the rock beneath his fingers and palm, scratchy, rough, hard - He could sense the others behind him, sensed they were not moving and – squirmed, staring at him, all those eyes on his back, pleading in a deaf prayer…

Seishirou abruptly span around, so swift that most of the people before him jumped in the unexpectedness of it, and walked from the statue, gliding; languid movements of knee bending with his steps, entrancing the crowds before him with his deadly beauty – as awing as the deep bellow of a cello rumbling outward from the madness of an orchestra. Mary's face cracked suddenly – creaked in the cheek and then shot across until it reached her blank eyes like small bolts lightening. Another crack started at her throat, and then moved around it in a perfect circle, as if a cord had been slid around her inanimate neck and was now tugging, tugging so extremely swiftly that in a split second, as fast as the samurai's katana, it roped around her. The stone head tipped forward in the fall of its fracture, moving at leisure, and then bolted downward as it slid off completely and shattered to pieces on the ground.

"_That _is how much your god cares," Seishirou narrated his believes. "That is _how much_ your god loves you." He continued, slipping each of his fists into his pockets and nearing the crowd, who instantly backed from him, "And now,

"Because your god cares so much,

"You are allgoing to _die._"

The church lights burst apart, spraying glass over the heads of the people who screamed and screamed and screamed into the dark cavern that had once been their sanctuary. Seishirou stepped backwards, closing his eyes in the pitch blackness, and enjoying the sounds of the cherry trees writhing out of the dirt, concrete, wood, and then rug of the church floor to grab at the legs of the many victims, twist and snap their legs apart until they broke like fragile cooked crab legs. People were screaming the names of their loved ones, screaming for god to save them, screaming because there was no one to help them… Legs and arms were torn apart from their body and flung away to smack against other bodies or the walls; like the bits of a broken toy at the hands of a tantrum prone child.

And the sundered virgin cried tears of stone.

Finally, the screaming subsided - and with one feline-like leap Seishirou glided upwards, unwilling to stay in the glue-like intoxicating scent of blood that had now become the church's wallpaper and rug. Only a tint of power and a single window was nothing more than miniscule pieces of glass; so much like the fate of the people lying inside. The scent of blood had been thick and heavy as gasoline, and Seishirou gasped into the fresher air, covering himself immediately with an illusion, knowing well that he was probably dripping with the splattered blood of the many bodies inside. Some of it had even managed to get in his hair – it felt sticky and awfully sloppy, and slid down his face, coating him in its crimson paint. He'd need good long shower, when he got home – that was for certain.

And just as the ambulance sirens began screeching into the dark Tokyo sunset Seishirou leapt away into the bloody, red horizon.

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**End.**


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